Motorcycle man might not be the only resident at this address, but I had seen Craig’s mug shot online. This was Craig Leone, and now, in person, I could see he wasn’t my feisty intruder. He was larger and broader in every way.

My next job was to discover how he knew my sister.

With stop one completed, I moved on to stop two. The quickest way to get to Against the Wind would have taken me right through the intersection where John Quayle made his last stand. I went the long way, parking on the street in front of the bar, a building that had obviously entered the world as a mechanic’s garage. To the left was a pawnshop, complete with metal bars crisscrossing every shiny surface. To the right, a used-car lot looked like a final resting place for junkers. Against the Wind was perfectly situated to draw customers from the neighborhood.

The bar was fronted by a parking lot with spaces just wide enough for motorcycles. Where signs advertising motor oil and radial tires had once hung, new signs for Milwaukee’s finest framed glass-paneled doors that had probably opened to separate bays. Since there were no Hells Angels or the local equivalent milling in front, I got out and crossed the parking lot to peek inside. The bays had been converted into one long room, with a bar against one side and half a dozen tables on the other. The space in the middle housed two pool tables. Most interesting of all, the bar rested on three motorcycles, evenly distributed to hold the weight, or at least to look as if they did.

The message I’d intercepted on Wendy’s voice mail might have come from a wrong number. But if my sister was hanging around Against the Wind at night, an entirely new and troubling set of questions had to be asked. Tomorrow, I would arrive sometime after eight and wait to see if Craig Leone showed up. If he did, I would find a way to ask about “Kim.”

For now I’d seen enough. The neighborhood might be seedy, but the street was well-lighted and traveled. Saturday I would have to rise early to get to Delray Beach in time to make my meetings, but visiting Against the Wind would be worth the inconvenience.

My third stop, an independent pharmacy, was along my route to Confidence K-9s. I’d never filled a prescription here and probably never would, but I hoped the pharmacist in the tiny strip mall had time to talk to me.

The roped-off parking lot, shared with an abandoned taqueria, was in the midst of being repaved, although at the moment, no one was working on it. The temperature was only sixty, so I parked on the street under heavy shade and left the windows down for Bismarck. He was more than capable of scaring off bad guys who reached in to unlock a door.

Purse tucked under my arm, I carefully made my way inside. The store was crowded with medical supplies and equipment, but not with customers. Unlike chain pharmacies, there were no aisles of gift items or snack foods, and I didn’t see a single greeting card. Homeopathic remedies, though? The store had a remedy for everything from acne to whooping cough.